God of War--The Official Novelization
Page 30
They were home.
But for Atreus, home could never be the way it once was. The moment he saw his house again turned bittersweet. He was returning to a place without a mother, and he was no longer the same person who had departed what seemed so long ago. He could never be that person after what he had experienced with his father. He would follow a path much different than the one he and his mother had talked about before her death.
Would he instead follow a path similar to his father’s? Would he become what his father was?
But above all else, would he choose good over evil? Could it be that simple? He would grow into a god and a warrior, but to what end? What would his mother expect of him?
Atreus lay on his cot and thought back to his last conversation with Brok and Sindri, after returning from Jötunheim. Having learned of his mother’s true nature, he found the brothers more forthcoming of their experiences with her. She had come to them, as the last Guardian of the Jötnar left in Midgard, seeking a boon to protect her people. In that, they saw an opportunity to restore the balance of power, and crafted for her the Leviathan axe to be Mjölnir’s equal.
For after all, it was Mjölnir, and the wholesale slaughter of Jötnar that Thor had put it to, which had so torn at them that the guilt would ultimately come between them, in a long and finally-concluded cycle of recrimination. Atreus smiled at the thought of their reconciliation. It brought him some comfort to see the bonds of family prevail over so much division.
But what had mother used the axe for?
“They called your mother Laufey the Just,” Mimir said, as if sensing where the boy’s mind must be. He had settled in on the mantel by the stove, overlooking the room.
“You knew her?” Atreus asked.
“I never had the pleasure. Laufey was a rumor in the halls of Asgard—a giantess warrior who thwarted many an Aesir god’s plans. Freeing those who they would enslave, feeding those who they would starve, and generally making a nuisance of herself in the most noble of ways. Thor was terribly frustrated he could never find her to fight. Once my imprisonment began, I could only wonder what became of her, and who she would turn out to be. Yours is quite a singular lineage, lad.”
“Then she fought to protect the innocent from the evil gods.”
“Aye, she did.”
Atreus turned pensive for long moments. Kratos welcomed the silence.
“Then that is what I must do to honor her.”
“As well you may, little brother. But remember—in the end, she didn’t choose the fight. She chose you. Both of you. I suppose she thought it was the best chance for the giants to live on. But your path is your own.”
Finally, with that thought lingering in his mind, Atreus closed his eyes and succumbed to his exhaustion.
Kratos had listened quietly, sharing his son’s interest in this new perspective on the woman he loved, and appreciating Mimir’s wise words of caution. But somewhere within, he already knew what path the boy would choose. It was in his nature to help people. And if Mimir was right about what befell the Valkyries, then this realm was sure to need more of their help, and soon.
Kratos put the thought out of mind, and closed his eyes.
* * *
Kratos sprang awake, lurching up in his bed, every muscle alert. Something had taken him from his slumber.
Or was he truly awake? Kratos struggled to recall how much time had passed, or what he last remembered. He felt at peace only a moment ago. Now something terrible sundered him from his dream of the woman he so loved.
Warm winds whistled through the cracks in the windows and the door.
Moments later, thunder rumbled every wall of their house.
Atreus tumbled awake, stumbling to plant his feet beneath him. Instinct drove him for his hunting knife.
“W-what is that?” he stammered, searching the darkness for his father, who was no longer in his bed.
Kratos planted his feet in a fighting stance. His blades were out of reach to help them. He rummaged for his Leviathan axe. Across the room, he shared a knowing glance with his son. There would be no hiding in the cellar this time.
“Your bow, quickly,” Kratos commanded.
Atreus crawled around the unlit room. His hands trembled as he located his quiver and bow. Owing to his father’s tutelage, he had become a superior archer. And now he believed his training was about to pay off.
Kratos balanced his axe in his hand.
Both knew the thunder had not come from nature. It came from something else.
A lightning bolt sizzled just outside the house, causing a blinding flash to flood in through the windows and cracks in the walls. For an instant, the interior became as bright as day.
Then the pounding of heavy footsteps slogged through the mud outside.
Glancing back to confirm that Atreus stood ready, Kratos advanced to the door, throwing it open.
A towering stout figure in a black cloak and cowl stood in the darkness, the driving rain obscuring his identity. The sounds of bloated drops pelting the roof and the trees was all that was heard.
Notching an arrow to his bow, Atreus planted himself beside his father at the doorway. The figure flipped back its cloak, an iron hammer hung from its belt.
It was Mjölnir; the hulking man was Thor.
In the heavens above, Sköll and Hati hurled to pounce on the sun and the moon. Ragnarök was about to begin.
Chicago native and Vietnam veteran, J. M. Barlog’s novel Windows to the Soul won Best Thriller at the “Love is Murder” Mystery Conference. Barlog was story consultant for God of War 2. God of War is his twelfth novel.
www.jmbarlog.com
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